


For the Record

by ms_prue



Category: Star Wars: The Old Republic
Genre: F/M, Jedi Knights, Sith Pureblood, overly elaborate framing devices that the author will come to regret
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-26
Updated: 2019-01-26
Packaged: 2019-10-16 13:18:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17550416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ms_prue/pseuds/ms_prue
Summary: ---Cataloguing in progress---Object name:Untitled HolocronObject description:A silver and red coloured, pyramidal-shaped device; materials and manufacture method unknown. Holocrons were used by Force Sensitive individuals to record testimony, memories or even entire personalities. This holocron appears to be a testimonial type with embedded memories, recorded by a Jedi Knight of Sith genetic origin named 'Dee' approximately ten years after the signing of the Treaty of Coruscant[note: dating unclear - please confirm before finalising this entry]. The content is autobiographical.Registration number:ORE-845302/OBJAquisition method:Donation of the Amalgamated Reformed Order Archaeological Society





	For the Record

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally a passing fancy about a smutty one-shot of the Jedi Knight and Doc, because... I don't know, I just had a sudden craving for Lighthearted Womaniser Gets More Than He Bargained For, Becomes Our Heroine's Willing Love Slave. And now it's out of hand and grown a personality and a backstory, so I figure, why not just go for broke? Let's do the whole sodding Jedi Knight original storyline, from nought to fifty. Let's do all the stupid feels, and paper over all the skeevy/half-baked/mentioned-once-and-never-again bumps and cracks in this refurbished gem of a hero's story. And let's make a new OC who's a pureblood Sith with amazing hair, who will have the most fun being the best lay Doc has never handled. I'm procrastinating writing an actual novel for this, so let's go absolutely wild and have a fricking ball. Enjoy!

I am four years old, and sitting in the circle of my mother's arms as she watches a cheesy old holovid with me. In the projected light my father dances gracefully in clunky, brutal-looking ceremonial war armour, clashing his holo lightsaber against his Jedi opponent's weapon. I know he is an _actor_ , which means he is only pretending, but it's still exciting to see him pretending to be a baddie. Mother holds my right hand in hers; we pretend to hold a lightsaber together, copying the movements of the Jedi. Mother is a Jedi, too, and one day I hope I can be just like her.  
The dramatic music rolls and crashes in time with the weapon strikes, until we get to my favourite part, where the Jedi hero throws her lightsaber away with a dramatic flourish: _swish!_ She stands there in front of him, defenceless, while he grimaces with rage.  
"Guard up!" he thunders.  
The Jedi refuses, her chest still heaving with the effort of their battle.  
"Guard up!" he yells once more, and strides towards her, but she doesn't flinch from his approach.  
"Guard up!" says my father, reaching out through the holo to grab my hand, and then fall dramatically in front of my mother and I where we sit on the battered bantha-hide sofa, watching the holo in miniature on the dejarik table in our ship's lounge. Unlike the Jedi in the holo, I squeak when he grabs my hand, and nearly fall off Mother's lap in surprise. Unlike his little holo-self, real daddy says, "Owch, my knees," as he pretends to cower in astonishment and awe before our unshakeable purpose and connection to the Light side of the Force.  
"'My guard _is_ up. The Force protects me, and it protects you, too,'" my mother and I and the little holo Jedi say in unison. And we lean down to kiss my father on his beautiful brow ridges, and then we go a little off-script from the holo because he picks me up and twirls me around and with his other arm lifts my Mother into a three-way hug, and kisses us all around. I feel squished in between them, but also very safe and loved. It's not like in the holos, where they make everything bright to show the strength of the Force in these moments. Instead of radiant light overwhelming everything, it's more like the air around us has gone thick and heavy. I can breathe it in, the connection between us is so present.  
"I made other holos too, you know. You don't have to keep watching that one," he grins.  
"But it's my favourite!" I protest.  
"And mine," says Mother. 

"It's still my favourite," says Mother, projecting herself into the recording and throwing us out of the memory and into blank white space. "Hello darling, sorry to interrupt. I think that's a lovely start, by the way. Why are you shy about it? Oh I suppose I shouldn't pry. I needed to interrupt because I just remembered something important. Before you get too far into recording, you should include some information about the provenance of this holocron. Otherwise dating and verifying the contents is an archivist's nightmare.  
"Hello, viewers! I'm Dee's mother. I constructed this holocron for my darling daughter, as a present on the event of her wedding, in the year... oh bother, what year is it, sweetheart? Let's see, the Treaty of Coruscant was signed when you were eight, and you're twenty-seven now, I think..."  
"You _think_?" I laugh, because this is typical Mother. She can't do dates or mental arithmetic to save her life. Luckily, she has many other life-saving talents.  
"Oh, bother. Look, it doesn't matter, they can do the sums. Besides, I'm sure the dating system will change again a dozen times before this holocron breaks. Someone will undoubtedly be keeping track of how many times the capital of the Republic gets almost blown up, though... Ugh, I've distracted myself. I apologise. I only meant for this to take a moment.  
"Dear viewers," she says firmly, to the hypothetical future audience, "my daughter, Dee, has had a very exciting life, and her father and I are very, very proud of her." She nods decisively, and turns her focus back to me. "Alright, now you can go again. And don't forget to skip the classified parts of your missions, or at least bury them under all the juicy bits, because I don't want anyone confiscating your only copy."  
Is it possible to die of embarrassment while recording a holocron?  
"Yes, thank you, Mother, I'll be sure to do that!"  
"Excellent, darling. I'll leave you to it," she says, and pops out. 

Incidentally, Mother, if you are using this holocron, thank you again for the very thoughtful present and please exit this recording immediately. I'm serious! Put the bloody holocron down and just ask me your question instead. Have you left yet? 

Mother, if you're still here, you can't say I didn't warn you. Last chance! 

I am twenty-four years old, and I am lying in bed in my starship, somewhere between Balmorra and Quesh, basking in unaccustomed heat of my cabin, and something else in the air, almost tangible, that almost takes my breath away. I remember I have felt this way before. I am momentarily stunned, transported back a moment many years ago when I felt the same breathless connection, the sense of belonging, laughing with my parents over a cheesy holovid, somewhere warm and uncomplicated.  
"You were very, very far away there for a minute," Doc says quietly. "Where were you?" His dark hair is mussed against my pillow, and his bare skin glows like burnished gold in the warm light of my ship's cabin. He reaches across the space between us to take my hand, and I pull our interlocked fingers up to my lips to drop some kisses on them.  
"I was on a completely different spaceship," I admit. It doesn't feel like twenty years have passed between these two moments of euphoric belonging.  
I was on a different starship, but it felt like I was _home_. 

My name is Dee. I am twenty- _eight_ years old. I am a Jedi, a Knight of the Republic. I am also, quite definitely, married, as Mother has already mentioned. The memory I just showed you is of when I realised I had met my husband. If you're thinking, "Oh Dee, you can't possibly be a Jedi and be married," then I am happy to report you are wrong! Part of the reason my mother is so keen for me to record my life is not just because I have had some interesting and exciting times in the Jedi Order, but because some of the things I've lived through show that not everything about the Jedi path and following the Light is clear-cut.  
I want you to know that if you have struggled, then you are not alone. 

I am eight years old and _finally_ I am big enough to learn how to use a practice practice saber, which is made of foam instead of carbo-plas. I have repeatedly demanded to have a real practice saber because I have been practicing with my imaginary saber _since forever_ and therefore shouldn't have to bother with the _gross indignity_ of having to use a foam one, like a little kid.  
"I've seen you practicing," my father says with approval. "You nearly have the lines from a dozen different holos down pat. Are you sure you don't want to be an actor, kid?"  
"I want to be a _Jedi_ ," I remind him, waving my foam noodle at him impatiently.  
"Great!" he beams. "I love Jedi!"  
He teaches me how to do all the fight scenes I've watched from his holos, and I take these lessons very, very seriously. When I'm good enough, he says, Mother will let me train with her, and then I can use a proper practice saber. I promise him that I will show her all my best moves, and he shows me how to impress her when we train for the first time. To top it all off, we practice a special routine for me to show her everything I've learned.  
And I am really, really certain that my first sparring match with Mother goes really well, until she concedes to me halfway through and immediately goes find my father. She drags him to the sparring chamber (Dad giggling and wheezing like an old man) and demands to know why she should ever have let him anywhere near me with any kind of weapon, and what was he thinking, when muscle memory is so important and the techniques I am learning at this age will go on to define the level of skill I will ever hope to achieve in my lifetime, and _why was he still laughing? This is serious!_  
My universe wobbles, just for a bit. I try not to cry hot tears in fear and panic that I've done something really bad. A real Jedi would be calm and trust everything will turn out alright. Especially when it feels like everything's gone completely wrong. But I am not a real Jedi, yet. I feel like a stupid little child. A disappointment.  
Dad gets himself together, and comes over to squeeze my shoulder and retie my sash, which I hadn't realised was coming undone over my training robes.  
"Alright, kiddo, now, let's show your mother _our_ fight, just like we've been rehearsing," he tells me, grabbing a practice saber and saluting me. "Guard up!"  
I lift my practice blade in the air, breathe into the stance, and make sure my wrist is at the right angle and my grip is tight enough, but not too tight, just like he showed me. Dad is still smiling. We have practiced this a lot. The familiarity is comforting.  
"Now, let's prove to your mother you know _all_ the techniques. No dying dramatically in the middle and beating me as a Force ghost this time, alright?"  
Afterwards, Mother tells me how proud she is of what I learned, and that she doesn't know what she expected from my father, that he is a scoundrel and a rogue and she loves him anyway, and never doubted my potential for a second.  
"However," she tells him sternly, "we agreed you'd only show her the _basics_."  
"What can I say? The kid's got talent," he shrugs, pulling me into a crushing hug. "You're going to make a real fine Jedi some day," he stage-whispers into my ear. "Just like your mother." And Mother can't help but smile at us and agree.  
Just like that, everything is right in the universe again. 

"But Dee," I bet you're saying, "that can't be true, because Jedi aren't allowed to have children! And they certainly don't let them start combat training so young!" Or maybe you aren't saying that, because you've already seen me and my family, and your overriding objection is that we can't possibly be Jedi because, you know, the red skin, weird face protrusions and all the other signs that we are definitely, unmistakably _Sith_.  
This is what my mother tells me about being Sith, and being, well, _Sith_ :  
The Sith way is strength and duty. The _Sith_ believe that strength is harnessed by connection to the Dark side of the Force, and that it is the duty of strength to lead and rule anyone weaker than oneself. The Sith, on the other hand, are just an unusually Force-sensitive species with a long and interesting history of Jedi contact, empire-building and extreme monumentalising. And other stuff that I was supposedly going to allowed to learn about "when I was older", as if I hadn't watched all of Dad's schlocky horror holos a million times over and seen a hundred different variations on deranged Dark Sith rituals, death magic and alchemy for a limited special effects budget. Sith like to learn and push boundaries. They like to understand how things work, and create new and wonderful things. Just like everything else in the Force, the results can go, well, you know. Either way.  
So, one way or another, everything I know about being Sith I have learned from my family. We are strong, studious and dutiful. And most importantly, as best we can, we follow the Light.  
Mother gave me this holocron as a gift, to do whatever I like with. But I can't help but think of holocrons as teaching devices. Therefore, I think it's fitting to use my mother's gift to pass on to you the lesson I learned from her: if you want a happy ending, you have to fight for it. There is no single road to follow to a happy ending. And just because the way is Light, doesn't mean it's easy. 

I am eighteen years old, and mother and father have finally agreed that I can go to Tython. There is a space for me on a shuttle to get there, and place for me in the padawan dormitories attached to the new temple. Rumour has it there are lots of exciting ancient artifacts being found in the ruins, and plenty of Jedi heritage being rediscovered. I can't wait to explore, and train, and study to become a Jedi Knight.  
Except, when I arrive on Tython, my practice blade and I are put to work. All the combat training my mother drilled me in is a very useful second nature, although some of the other padawans are uneasy around me because of it. But there are all kinds of people training and working in the temple. There are warriors and scholars, healers and trainers, from all different planets and species and cultures, and there are more who are indifferent to my padawan trials, or impressed at my combat skills, than those who would distance themselves from me. My trainer, Master Orgus, trusts a lot in the Force's guidance, like my mother and father do. _There's no one path, except it follows the Light,_ Mother likes to remind me, along with how I am different but not necessarily more special or better than anyone else. And because I am not afraid of my strength, and I do my duty faithfully and well, when I finish my training on Tython, I am awarded the title _Knight of the Republic_. 

So, you see, I am a Sith, and I am a Jedi. I wear my Jedi robes and the gold jewellery my mother gave me as a coming-of-age present; a triple-necklet, ear cuffs, a nose ring and a stud. I carry the lightsaber I forged for myself on Tython. I use my strength to protect and defend the Republic. And everywhere I go, _Jedi_ is what people call me. 


End file.
